Then grew a wrinkle on fair Venus' brow, The amber sweet of love is turn'd to gall! Gloomy was Heaven; bright Phoebus did avow He would be coy, and would not love at all; Swearing no greater mischief could be wrought, Than love united to a jealous thought.
Robert Greene, George Peele (1861). “The dramatic and poetical works of Robert Greene & George Peele: with memoirs of the authors and notes”, p.311
